It's the day of my date with Duke Callum.
I should be excited. Giddy, even. Any of the other women in this godforsaken selection would be.
I am not.
I don't know what to expect, and that is what bugs me the most. He is not a man to be trusted, not with those cold, piercing eyes and the way he carries himself—like he already owns the world and is just deciding what to do with the rest of us in it.
He asked me to meet him at one of the most famous cafés in the city. Public. Open. I should take it as a relief, but I don't. There is something off about it. If anything, it feels like a statement—a declaration. He wants people to see me, to witness that he, a Duke, has chosen a human, someone of my status, as his selection. It doesn't make sense. If anything, he should be ashamed to have his name tied to me in any way. I am not noble. I am not powerful. I am not even of their kind.
So what is his angle?
I cannot afford not to know.
I let Lilah adjust the hat on my head as she fusses over the ribbons on my gown. The outfit is simple, and modest, an appropriate choice for an unclaimed and unmated woman. Though the irony is not lost on me—this society clings to outdated formalities and rituals, yet sex itself is not a taboo here. Power is. Status is. And I have neither.
Lilah is to accompany me, an escort for propriety's sake, but also a reminder. I am still watched. Still caged. Still at the mercy of this world's rules, no matter how much I try to navigate them on my own terms.
I step into the carriage, feeling the familiar, uncomfortable sway as it begins its journey. The ride is long, almost an hour, and in moments like this, I miss modernity more than ever. The efficiency of cars, the quick escape of music through headphones, the ability to be anywhere without the burden of time. My past self—stressed, overworked, juggling two jobs and barely making ends meet—would scoff at me now. I used to curse slow internet speed and the inconvenience of waiting. Now, time is all I have. More than I know what to do with.
That is why I've been using it wisely, gathering information in the only way available to me—through those around me. The human servants, the maids, even the estate's butler. The commoners have access to books, but only the nobility is granted entrance to the great libraries, where the real knowledge is kept under lock and key. There are rules to who learns what, rules meant to keep people like me in my place.
But I have never been good at staying where people tell me to be.
......
The café is beautiful. It's built in the classic architectural style of this world—grand yet intimate, designed for spectacle and secrecy all at once. The nobility thrives in contradiction.
I step inside, the sound of soft chatter and clinking glasses filling the air. The scent of fresh bread and spiced tea drifts through the room, masking the tension that lingers beneath the surface of polite conversation.
And then, I see him.
Duke Callum is already seated, watching me. Not waiting. Watching. Like he has already decided how this meeting will go, and now he's just here to watch me catch up.
I keep my steps even as I approach, refusing to shrink under the weight of his gaze. I have spent my life in rooms full of men who underestimate me, who see only what they want to see. I know how to play my part.
I take my seat across from him, my back straight, my expression neutral.
"Duke Callum."
He studies me for a long moment, and then, finally, a slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It is not warm. It is not friendly. It is the kind of smile that tells me he enjoys the way I resist him. That he expects it. That he is already thinking about how to dismantle it.
"I see you've dressed appropriately," he says, his voice smooth, deliberate. "Good. I prefer my women to understand the importance of appearances."
I don't let the comment sting. He wants a reaction, and I won't give him one.
"I do try to meet expectations," I reply, taking a sip of the tea that has already been poured for me. "Within reason."
His amusement doesn't fade. If anything, it deepens. "Oh, I doubt you limit yourself to reason, Kira."
I stiffen at the sound of my name on his lips. He notices. He notices everything.
The conversation that follows is careful, and calculated. He is testing me, measuring me against whatever standard he holds. I return the favor. I watch the way he speaks, the way he never truly answers a question without twisting it into something else. He is playing a game. And I do not know the rules.
Yet.
Then, just as smoothly as the conversation had begun, it shifted.
The café door opens, and the atmosphere shifts with it.
I don't need to turn around to know that someone important has entered. The murmurs drop to whispers, and the weight of another presence fills the room.
Callum's eyes flick past me, his expression unreadable. But the way his fingers tighten around the handle of his cup tells me enough.
I turn my head just slightly, just enough to see.
The man who has entered is tall, striking, with an air of effortless arrogance. He moves through the room as if he belongs there, like the world itself bends to accommodate him.
And he is looking at me.
The moment our eyes meet, I feel it.
The weight of his attention. The interest. The calculation.
I recognize it because I have seen it before—on men who think they have already won.
Callum watches the exchange, and when he speaks again, his voice is darker, sharper. "Be careful where you let your eyes wander, Kira. Some men take interest as an invitation."
I don't look away from the newcomer.
And I don't smile.
"Then they'll have to learn disappointment."
For a while, silence follows word and then the meal continues, but the dynamic has changed. I am no longer simply dining with Callum. I am being tested.